“Aunty, is this Kali Puja or Diwali?”
My neighbour’s daughter asked this question, and it stopped everyone in their tracks.
But it’s a fair question for a child, honestly.
Because something’s shifting in Kolkata.
Traditional festivals of Kolkata are undergoing a radical change, and non-traditional festivals are increasingly gaining popularity.
The city that built its identity around Kali Puja is quietly falling for Diwali. Not replacing the old festival, mind you. Just making room for its national cousin.
But don’t get it wrong.
Kali Puja still happens. Bengalis, even in gated communities, still organize it with full devotion.
The sombre midnight puja. The serious, spine-tingling energy of worshipping the goddess.
But here’s the reality. Kali Puja is intense. But it’s deeply Bengali.
Walk through any housing complex on Diwali night now. You’ll see Bengali grandmothers lighting diyas alongside Gujarati families.
Marwari kids teaching their Bengali friends rangoli patterns.
The smell of luchi is mixed with the aroma of Rajasthani sweets.
This wasn’t the Kolkata our parents knew.
(So much has changed in a generation!)
But honestly? It might be better.
The Apartment Effect (Or How We All Became One Big Family)
Remember when neighbourhoods were just a block with rows of houses? When your landlord knew your grandmother?
When your every move was monitored by the aunty next door?
Those days are pretty much over.
Now we live in gated communities. A few hundred families who have nothing in common except the shared amenities.
You’ve got the Bengali family on the third floor, the Gujarati couple on the seventh, the Bihari family on the tenth.
It’s like someone shook up India and poured it into one community.
And the most beautiful part?
Nobody cares about these differences anymore.
Diwali becomes the great equalizer. It’s the festival that says, “Hey, we’re all here. Let’s light some diyas and eat some laddoos.”
Dhanteras: The Day Kolkata Discovers Gold Shopping
You want proof that Diwali has taken over? Look at Dhanteras.
Only a few years ago, most Bengalis would have looked at you blankly if you mentioned Dhanteras. “Dhante-what?”
But today? Good luck finding parking near any jewelry store on Dhanteras day (and night).
The queues are so long, you’d think they’re giving away gold for free.
Bengalis have officially joined the gold-buying madness.
Bengalis used to buy gold for weddings.
Now they buy it because it’s Dhanteras.
When Your Housing Complex Becomes Ayodhya
Here’s what happens in gated communities in Kolkata around Diwali.
Someone from the managing committee sends a WhatsApp message. “Diwali celebration meeting at 7 PM on Sunday.”
Forty people show up with forty different opinions.
By the end, you’ve got a plan. Rangoli competition. Lakshmi puja. Diya lighting ceremony.
Potluck dinner. Fireworks (the environment-friendly kind with no sound pollution, because we’re responsible citizens now).
The transformation is real.
Suddenly, the community hall looks like a wedding venue. Fairy lights everywhere. Rangoli at the entrance.
Someone’s teenage son is manning the music playlist.
The Rangoli Wars (Friendly, Mostly)
Nothing brings out the competitive spirit quite like a rangoli competition.
Suddenly, everyone’s an artist.
Mrs. Sharma has been watching YouTube tutorials for a week. Mr. Das bought twenty packets of rangoli powder.
The teenagers are trying geometric patterns they found on Pinterest.
And then there’s always that one aunty who shows up with a stencil.
Is it cheating? Is it smart? Nobody knows. We’re all just impressed she thought of it.
Kids and Crackers: The Controlled Chaos
Let me tell you about the firecracker situation in gated communities.
It’s organized chaos.
Parents form groups. “We’ll handle the kids from Building A.” “We’ll take the ones from Building B.”
It’s like a military operation, except the soldiers are eight-year-olds with sparklers.
The dads stand around pretending they’re just there for safety.
But you see their eyes light up when someone brings out the flower pots.
They’re kids again. Just taller kids who pay taxes.
The Food Situation (The Real Reason We’re All Here)
Be honest. Half the reason you go to community Diwali celebrations is the food.
Every family brings something. The Guptas bring their legendary gulab jamuns.
The Mishras bring that namkeen that disappears in five minutes.
Someone always brings homemade chakli. Someone else brings store-bought barfi and pretends they made it.
By 9 PM, everyone’s eaten too much and is planning tomorrow’s diet.
By 9:15 PM, someone brings out more ladoos and the diet is forgotten.
The Gift Exchange Dance
Diwali gifts in gated communities are tricky.
You give gifts to your close neighbours. But what about the family on the floor above?
Or that couple you sometimes chat with in the elevator?
So you buy extra. Dry fruits in decorative boxes. Small diyas. Scented candles.
You end up with a closet full of the same stuff everyone else bought.
But here’s the secret. Nobody cares if it’s the third box of almonds they’ve received.
It’s the thought that counts. Plus, almonds don’t expire quickly.
Togetherness in the Age of Nuclear Families
Here’s the beautiful truth about Diwali in Kolkata’s gated communities.
We’re creating new traditions while keeping old ones alive.
Your kid learns about Lord Rama from the neighbour’s grandmother.
You learn a new rangoli pattern from the family that moved in last month.
This is Kolkata’s superpower. We take every festival, make it ours, and invite everyone to join.
Diwali in a gated community isn’t just about lights and sweets.
It’s about turning neighbours into family, one celebration at a time.
And honestly? In a world of nuclear families and busy schedules, we could all use a little more togetherness.
Happy Diwali, Kolkata. Keep shining.
